


All Kinds

by roflolmaomg



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, RPF, Romance, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:25:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roflolmaomg/pseuds/roflolmaomg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's Lucy in the Sky and all kinds of apple pie.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Kinds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pherede](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherede/gifts).



it is your mother’s insisting idea that you and he have dinner with your parents, an idea that already sparks immediate, red-cheeked guilt, but you say yes anyway because you secretly love that he’s yours to have dinner with. _it’ll be nice to meet him_ , your mother says, then, _also i may or may not have had your sister look up pictures of him on the Google. so handsome!_

your sigh is loud enough to make him look up from his backpacker’s magazine and raise an eyebrow and you want to kiss his itchy, scruffy face but instead you mouth the words, _my mother_ , and he grins. 

_we’ll be there. yes._ yes. _okay, mom. i love you too. yes, he eats meat. okay. bye_ , you finally say, and mime throwing your phone across the room. lee beckons a long finger and you follow, dragging feet, towards the couch. you make it halfway there and lie face down on the floor instead, groaning. 

_am i going to regret this?_ you say to the carpet. 

the vibrations of his laugh tickle beneath you. _you ask me that a lot_ , he says, _and you tend to end up not caring._

 _you think you know me, pace_ , you say, pushing up onto your elbows and staring him right in his dumb handsome face. _i can regret better than the best of them, leap mountains of guilt in a single bound_ , and he laughs again, _and get stuck at the top of them._

fondly, his foot pats your arm. _i’ll rescue you_ , he says, teasing, but there’s still an affectionate seriousness in his tone that makes your stomach fuzzy. _i’m a very good mountain climber._

 _just don’t wear flannel to meet my father_ , you say, _he’s white collar. literally, a priest._

~

he wears flannel. and a suit jacket, but you still kick him in the shins when he opens the car door for you. he’d spent the car ride insisting on having his hand tucked between your legs, thumb stroking slow circles over your inner thigh but never going any fucking higher and you hate him for how wet he makes you but love that he knows it. 

you sigh the thirty-fifth sigh of the night, which technically hadn’t even started yet, but you try to always come prepared. _darling_ , he says, brushing his hair out of his limestone eyes, _this will be fun. besides, i’m the one that has to prove i’m good enough for you,_ like he isn’t.

you lead him to the front door, fingers threaded through his, his hand nearly swallowing yours. he’s so tall, legs for miles in 527 levi jeans so snug your mouth waters at the outline of his ass, his thighs. standing on the porch, you stare for a moment at the reflections you two make in the glass door, at the sun fading behind you, and squeeze his hand. his reflection smiles at yours and you grip the handle, open the door, and knock on the massive wooden door you helped your mother paint purple.

when it opens, it creaks loud enough to cover his murmur, _here goes._

~

 

surprisingly, it’s not at all awkward, and unsurprisingly, your parents can’t get enough of him. he’s infuriatingly charming but wonderfully sincere, complimenting your mom on the decorations and the dinner, and even getting excited to talk to your dad about house renovations. your parents go apeshit over giving tours of the house and lee devours any and all things construction, and for a bit you wonder why you ever thought they wouldn’t have anything in common. 

over dinner your mother tells you family news, of your overseas sister and your southern-dwelling brother. whom from your high school she’s seen, teachers who pass on greetings and congratulations. your dad, as expected, asks questions with a curious façade and a will-you-provide-for-my-daughter undercurrent, which lee handles flawlessly. lee, well. lee’s pinkie finger nearly makes you leap out of your seat when it traces a line from your knee to the hem of your dress, which has shifted considerably high up your leg, at which point he curves it over the top of your thigh and back down the other side. you are thankful for a large table, for razors, and for Olay. you make a note to write them. _a+ on the shimmer moisturizer_ , you think, a little hysteric. lee’s fingers start to trace out words in the middle of your mom telling a story about her quilting club and you find it’s impossible to pay attention to her aside from the occasional nod, because you’ve started to focus on the letters he’s spelling out with his nails.

i want your cunt, his fingertips say to your skin, and you bite your lip on the u-n-t and just as you consider inching forward into his hand, he removes it entirely, laughing at the appropriate time in your mother’s story. gently, you place your middle finger against his leg. 

you’d still let him fuck you in the bathroom, though.

before you’ve even finished your first serving, lee’s finished his seconds, moving onto thirds, and just as he lifts the spoon to the stuffing your mom mentions apple pie, doused with cinnamon and vanilla ice cream and lee’s mouth falls open. eyes slightly glazed, he looks at you, touches your shoulder (palm so warm and his fingers so long his thumb nearly touches your collarbone), and says, _your mother is an angel._

she puffs her feathers, glowing at the compliment, and you roll your eyes. 

_it isn’t quite ready yet, though_ , she says, standing up and reaching for her plate. _why don’t you show lee around the neighborhood while it finishes baking? your father and i can handle dishes._

your father, to his credit, only makes a face once her back is turned, but he shuffles towards the kitchen a moment later, meat dish in hand. 

lee’s eyes turn the color of rain-drenched forests and his gaze falls to your mouth, watches your teeth worry your bottom lip. _sounds perfect._

~

so maybe you have a lot to be thankful for. like the fact that your parents couldn’t sell the old camper with the queen bed, so they let it live in the backyard, picturesque next to the willow tree. it is, of course, nearing complete darkness when you lead him out the back door, down the steps your dogs have chewed away (your dogs, delightful furry idiots that lee fell in love with immediately, crouching down and letting them slobber all over his face and making you scream inwardly because of how cute everybody is), past the stone wall and out into the weeds.

when you and your sister were small, young enough to ignore the 6 year age difference but old enough to be unafraid of exploring alone, the two of you would drag blankets and marshmallows out to the camper and fight to stay awake past midnight, just to see if you could. summer nights were blissfully cool, and the house was close enough that neither of you felt all that guilty for running back inside to use the bathroom. she would make up stories, weaving dragons and Disney heroines and wonderful, handsome, brave heroes into the night, and you would fall asleep wondering about what your hero would look like, who would be the one to ride dragons with you and conquer the world. 

currently, you wonder if it’s the one with his hand on your waist and excitement thrumming through his limbs. _it’s so cool that you have a camper_ , he says, and _that’s_ what he’s excited about? 

your heart fills your chest, anyway. 

the camper smells of dust and family vacations and memories of cramped space and playing casino with your dad flood your head, make you smile fondly. meanwhile, lee’s pulling the door closed behind him and advancing upon you, until your lower back hits the tiny counter and he’s crowded between your legs. 

_you’re so lovely_ , he says, touching your hip, the curve of your shoulder, drags his fingers over your pulse and down your throat. it is there he stops, ducks his head to kiss first then shock your nerves with a bite. you gasp, instinctively arch into him, his body strong, solid, answering. you rise and he meets you in turn, pushes his hips into yours and you feel his cock hardening in his jeans. your mouth waters at the thought. _just seeing your bare skin, your legs, and you’re so soft_ , he continues, pressing kisses to your neck every few words to distract you from his hands drifting towards your ass. _i wanted to crawl beneath the table and taste you._

shit, if he so much as brushed over your clit you’d probably come. you’re already soaked. 

you find your way beneath his stupid flannel shirt, the soft grey t-shirt you often steal to wear to bed (and when you do he can’t keep his hands or lips off of you, worshiping your cotton-covered skin and moaning into the dip of your spine, praises rumbling in his chest and falling from his tongue), and run your nails so lightly on his stomach, over the jutting bones of his hips and to the ticklish, sensitive strip of skin above his jeans. he growls, then lifts you like nothing and tosses your ass onto the old mattress. it squeaks, like you do, as he navigates the cramped quarters and manages to kneel between your legs. in the dim light his eyes are black, molten beneath his eyelashes and consuming. you can’t look away from him, his charming, cheeky grin, the way his tongue darts out and his teeth are a flash of white on his delicious bottom lip. lee will be the end of you.

agonizingly, he eases open your knees, the skirt of your dress bunching around your waist as he does, and he gives no warning at all before pressing his nose to your cunt, your soaking wet panties, and inhaling. his groan sends crackles of heat through your entire body, vibrating in your center. you feel his hot breath, his tongue against the fabric, and you can’t stop the whine that escapes when he pulls back to sit on heels. _you smell fucking amazing, let me—_

and he’s shifting and suddenly above you, caging you against the bed with one arm braced by your hip and the other moving your skirt out of the way. he licks into your mouth the moment his fingers pull your underwear to the side and he greedily answers your startled moan by sucking on your tongue. when you pull away for air, his breath is ragged, and you are both alarmed and empowered by how much you turn him on, how he might be the one teasing his fingers over your clit but he is also the one confessing in your ear, the one whose brows will draw together to accompany an expression of helplessness when you walk into the kitchen without pants. 

_i see my dad was unsuccessful in filling you with the fear of god_ , you manage to string together, and feel proud of it. his chuckle is the dirtiest thing you’ve ever heard and you never want it to stop. 

_on the contrary_ , he says, _though it’s not god’s hand that i’ll have to shake after i’m done fingering your cunt._

 _you can’t just_ say _things like that_ , and you drag him by the collar to suck on his bottom lip, to bite it and vow to draw blood. whenever you manage to break skin, his hips stutter, tension coiling in his muscles, his body all hard grace and animalistic desire. one particular catch of your teeth has you tasting pennies and salt on his mouth and he snarls, surges against you and pins you to the bed with the entirety of his body. his hands rip yours away from his shirt to push them above your head, he’s holding both of your wrists down with one hand and it’s so fucking hot, has you squirming just to get friction between your thighs. _please, lee_ , you say between nipping at the shell of his ear and dragging your lips across his stubbled cheek.

 _love_ , he says, _anything you like_. he slides two fingers into your pussy and smothers your moan. 

you clench around him and his head drops to your chest. you’re sure he can hear how fast your heart is beating against your sternum but he says nothing, just kisses between your breasts and slowly moves his fingers in and out of you. _you’re so wet for me_ , he purrs, _i could just fuck you now, and you could just take it. you should let me fuck you._ it’s only slightly pleading and mostly a suggestion, like you’d ever think it was a bad idea. 

you answer by curling your fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand up to your mouth, and tasting yourself on his fingerprints. you are thankful that you can touch him, suck on his fingers, that it was only a character he played that could bring life or death. you don’t think you’d survive, always being able to look, but never, ever touch. when your tongue swirls around his index finger something akin to a whimper sounds in his throat. you wish you could see him clearly, but in your imagination you’re pretty sure it’d be this: crinkles, at the corners of his eyes, imperfect but white teeth caught on his lower lip, pupils wide and staring you down. high cheekbones, adorable ears that stick out, soft, dark hair curling over them. you know of the smattering of hair on his chest, the freckles that shower his skin as they do yours. you find constellations on each other on days when there’s nothing to do but lay in bed and spend the day in quiet, in clean sheets and whatever whispers are exchanged are secrets for only the two of you. 

you let go of his wrist and instead use your wicked fingers to squeeze him through his jeans.

 _better be quick_ , you say, knowing full-well that once he’s inside you neither of you are going to last long at all, _we get to have apple pie after this._

 _my two favorite desserts in one night_ , he replies, then kisses you, and that he’s tasting you off your own mouth is so deliciously dirty that you feel like your skin is going to burst from how tightly anticipation pushes at your seams. lee’s in obvious agreement, if his haste to unzip his jeans and wrap a hand around his cock is any indication. you hear, rather than see, him stroke himself a few times, hear the soft utterance of pleasure before he’s nudging back between your legs and pulling your panties aside. thank fuck for dresses and birth control because the feel of him, slick, unrelenting, pushing inside of you as your cunt allows him in is incredible, every time, it’s incredible. 

he fucks you like he can’t get close enough to your body, draped over you and a hand so high up your thigh, palming your ass and spreading you even further. the friction of your underwear, the edge of it snug against your clit so that it’s shifting with every single thrust, makes you climb higher and higher towards a release that will surely leave you unable to walk. the thrill of this secret, a quickie before going back into to exchange more pleasantries with your parents, just adds to your guilty pleasure (and so does knowing that once you and lee return to your place, all of the lights will be turned on and you will be spread over the duvet and he’ll eat you out to a point within an inch of your life, until you’re an absolute mess begging to come and to ride his cock and one thousand other things that will surely get you placed in the inner circles of hell). 

you tighten around him each time his hips touch your ass, and he’s groaning and stuttering and dropping kisses to your brow, nose, eyelids, alternating between cursing you to high heaven and calling you the sweetest of names, praising your lips and your pussy and your butter-soft skin. his stubble scrapes your jaw line and your mouth falls open, inviting him in. he kisses like he fucks, thorough, deep, with a slight urgency. on his tongue you taste yourself and dinner and his spit, you could just absorb him right into your bones and still feel like it wasn’t enough; you want all of him, all of the time, forever. 

the sounds coming from this beautiful man start spiraling further and further towards desperation, like he can’t keep them in, can’t stop himself from gasping and sighing and growling when your heels tuck into the slight notches in his lower back to pull him in closer each time. _come on_ , you say, and it cuts through the warm, sex-heavy humidity of the camper, _make me come, make me—_

you are cut off by the sight of him licking his first two fingers and then relentlessly rubbing circles around your clitoris, all the while fucking into you with strokes that rock your entire bodies. sex has never been this good before him, and you can’t imagine you’d find anything better, anyone better at making you fall apart. what brings you hard and quick to the edge, the taste of orgasm whipping through you like unforgiving arctic winds, is when he calls you _sweetheart, fucking darling, your cunt is amazing, let me feel you come_ , and his voice is pitched so low all the blood rushes right to where his fingers currently are and you break hard when his mouth clamps to the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, teeth digging in, because he fucking knows that’s what makes you easy, panting and ready to spread your legs for him. he’ll often sneak up behind you, strong arms wrapping around you entirely, and press his mouth to your vulnerable nape, and especially since you cut your hair, he can’t stop touching it, can’t get enough of making you fall back against him by sucking dark bruises too high up to cover with a collar (you wear them proudly anyway, like badges of honor, and you give them as often as you get them). now, it’s exactly what pulls you into the supernova.

you feel his grin at your throat as you clench wildly around him and it’s impossible and too much because he’s still thrusting into you, and picking up speed. without even realizing it you grunt and oh every time lee’s hips piston forward, and it tends to be that the more vocal _you_ get, the more turned on _he_ gets, so it’s only fair that you be loud, right? 

_fuck me, you asshole_ , you begin (because there was this one time you called him a motherfucker as a joke as you kissed his thigh and his dick got so hard so fast it bumped your chin, so yes, you’re going to use this to your advantage), _come in my pussy so you can lick it out later, taste yourself from my cunt, eat me out until i’m screaming for you, lee,_ and that totally does it because he makes a noise like a wounded animal and his rhythm falters completely into a couple of short, quick thrusts, then he pushes so deep into you you swear you can taste his cock on the back of your tongue. 

_you’ll end me, woman_ , he growls a few moments later, after hearing nothing but both of your exhales, shaky but giddy. he pulls out of you with a filthy, obscene squelch and you don’t even care, having just had possibly the most shameless sex of your life in your family’s camper, of all places. 

here’s where it kills you: he tucks himself back into his jeans and zips up, but only after showering the most gentle of kisses over any bare skin he can reach, your cheeks, the tops of your breasts, up the length of your forearm. his lips touch your wrist and his eyes cut right through yours, an overwhelming clarity and affection radiating from them. after sex lee always treats you like porcelain, yet never leaves your side. his touch becomes delicate, admiring. _you’re divine_ , he says against your mouth, and his hands on your chest tickle from the rumble of his post-coital laziness. 

you laugh, and somehow manage to push him off so you can right yourself. you pause, just for a second, before reaching underneath your dress and pulling your panties off. you take the hand he’s stretched out in offering and stand, then hook a finger into the waistband of his pants to bring him a little closer. _and lucky you_ you say, tucking your drenched underwear into the front pocket of his jeans, _now you get to have apple pie._

he grins and bites his lip and makes that face again, the one that tells you he finds you unfair. he looks down at the bit of fabric peeking from his pocket, pushes it in a bit further, then smells his fingers. _mmm_ , he says, _i already reek of you._ but he doesn’t sound like he regrets it. 

_you’re pretty_ , you say, because he is and because you feel like you just shotgunned a joint.

 _we should probably come in through the front door, no?_ he says, tilting his head like he always does with stupid puppy dog eyes. _we’re certainly sweaty and flushed enough, to make it seem like a walk was taken._

mockingly, you gasp, and say, _and smart, too!_ which earns you a swat on the ass on your way out of the camper. quietly, to yourself, you make a note of ways to get him to agree to spanking you later (which usually doesn’t take much more than a look from beneath your eyelashes and a well-placed bitten lip). 

_cheeky_ , he calls you, _so fucking cheeky. can't i have you again, instead of this pie?_

 _to be fair, my mother did make both, so a taste-test comparison might benefit you in the long run._ where is this even coming from? you should be near speechless, but instead you feel like you could banter with him until both of your tongues fall out. 

lee touches the middle of your back, sweeps his hand down your spine, to your elbow, your wrist, and finally, to intertwine his fingers with yours. _i’m sure i know the winner already_ , he says, and that’s the thing that makes you blush, some silly compliment. 

he squeezes your hand, and you squeeze back. stupid boys.


End file.
